


All I Want

by Princessfbi



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cosette and Enjolras are siblings but only in mention, Human!Grantaire, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mer!Jolras, Mermaids, Merrow Legends, Objectification of Pretty Things, Obsessiveness, Past Child Abuse, Pining, Protectiveness, Romance, Shameless Little Mermaid references, mermaid!Enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 05:48:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1846675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princessfbi/pseuds/Princessfbi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Grantaire returns to his home by the sea all he wanted to do was just go drink and wallow by the beach. He was not expecting something from the water, during a storm of all times, to throw his littered trash back at his head! </p><p>Mermaid!Enjolras Human!Grantaire</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I Want

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own anything

Grantaire being drunk wasn't something new. Grantaire being drunk was actually a constant reassurance that the world was still turning. He only stopped drinking when the sky was falling or whatever end of the world catastrophe was occurring at the time. By this, it was usually implied that whenever anyone saw him, he was some variation of drunk.

However, drinking alone on a beach with only the clouds as his companions, he wasn't even near to the level of being drunk enough to feeling nothing. No, he still felt the numbness like a vibration in his chest and the melancholy was beating against his mouth until he would try and drown it with the harsh alcohol. The insecurity felt like it was clawing it's way up his legs and trying to drag him down, and the deep shadows of his head were too dark for him to even see past. Nope, definitely not drunk enough to feel an absolute blissful amount of pure  _nothing_.

Grantaire hated his old home by the water. The walls held too many memories that shouted at him with a voice impressively similar to his dad's. The ocean, though stunning, was too loud for his muse and chased her away. Fog hung in the old forgotten fishing town like a dark cloud of dull lifelessness. He'd promised himself he would never come back and yet there he was, no future, no present, and now no past. If Eponine knew he was drinking alone on the beach she would've had his head on a spike.

Sometimes, he wished the wet sand, that swallowed his feet when he dug them into the small space where beach met solid rock, would do him a favor and keep him there till the tide came in and drowned him.

Grantaire pushed the heel of his hand to his eye. No! No, he had worked too hard to get away from that point. Only a few hours at the horrid place and he was already back to that dark space he had worked so hard to get out of. No, he was better. He was better than he had been in a while. Before he had felt completely empty and now he could say he felt decently… half way there. Better.

The rush of emotions surged forward like a frightened horse and consumed him making his hands start to shake. His heart felt like it was ramming in the pit of his stomach as it fell.

Grantaire tossed the liquor bottle, and all his pent up frustrations with it, into the water just longing for the waves to take them far  _far_  away.

The calm that came with that only lasted for a moment before it felt like his skin was crawling again and all he wanted to do was get back on a bus and leave.

He raked a hand through his wild curls and shook his head. Grantaire had only just looked up before he twisted out of the way with a startled shout, ducking to the side and avoiding being hit by his glass bottle. The bottle smacked the ground with a resounding  _thunk_  and bounced away, missing him by less than an inch.

"What the fu-" He cried twisting back towards the water with his wide eyes.

"These waters are a protected environment!" A voice said with a sharp edge to the beautiful timbre.

Grantaire wasn't sure he was drunk enough to be hearing things and he knew he certainly was not drunk enough to be  _seeing_  things. He had been the only one on the beach but something was talking to him from the water. He should've run screaming, or more likely tell the pompous hippie to  _fuck off,_ but he was rooted to the ground in his crouch and staring out at the choppy water with wide eyes.

"Holy shit…" He breathed. Throwing himself onto his hands and knees he squinted out at the water. A boy was wading in the surf and glaring at him with the fiercest blue eyes Grantaire had ever seen.

"Wha…?" Grantaire blinked several times because the waves were pretty rough from the storm that was coming in and there was some guy just out in the middle of the water lecturing at him about environmental security. The boy ducked underwater as a wave passed over him, the curling water wiping any trace of him. But before Grantaire could even act on the possibility that the idiot was drowning, blond curls peeked up from the water in front of him and the fierce blue eyes were back and much closer.

"The water is protected." Grantaire gapped at him, confusion making his brow furrow deeply. An arm with a spiraling tattoo that circled from the shoulder to the hand extended over to the beach- what the hell he didn't even look like he was  _struggling_ to stay above the surface- and pointed at the rusty metal sign prohibiting littering. "Your government even says so."

Grantaire licked his dry lips as he rubbed his eyes viciously until he could see tiny lights. The ocean was stirring as the waves grew more vicious and unforgiving, but the boy was wading in the water like he was in a fucking swimming pool. He seemed at ease in the water as though he were Poseidon, but he was as beautiful as Apollo. His youthful face was sharp and angular, as if sculpted from marble, but with enough cushion in his cheeks under his eyes to add a sort of eternal youthful grace to him. Long blond curls were twisted and plaited by strands of seaweed and old rope. His eyes- oh God his eyes- he wasn't even sure what kind of a blue they were.

"You're stunning." Grantaire said in a low breath, his eyes beginning to twitch from staring. The boy's eyes narrowed on him and a frown pulled at the corner of his lips.

"Are you drunk?" He asked.

"Most definitely." Grantaire quipped. He saw a flash of red before water splashed at him. Icy cold seawater drenched his clothes and he cried out, jumping away from the gorgeous menace.

Grantaire wiped at his face, spluttering profanities as the warmth of the whiskey left his body and the wind blew along his wet skin like a mocking kiss.

"What the fuck!" He cried. "What the actually fuck? What was that for?"

"You need to go home. There's a storm coming and you can't walk home drunk now can you?" The boy shrugged, unapologetic. He waded closer to Grantaire, his eyes narrowing further until they were practically on top of his nose, and a curious frown pinched his lips together. Grantaire shifted under the scrutinizing glare.

"You aren't like the rest of the humans." He said, his expression softening but still guarded. Grantaire rubbed a hand over his cheek, flinging some of the water that was dripping from his hair to the side. "I've never seen you before. What's your name?"

"Well, the mere mortals call me Grantaire." Grantaire snarked. He knew the guy looked like an angel from heaven, but to call everyone else "humans" seemed a little extreme. Really weird, actually.

"Grantaire." He repeated, humming as he tested the name on his tongue. Grantaire tried to ignore the way his heart seemed to flutter like he was some thirteen year old when he said his name.

Clearing his throat, Grantaire waited, but the boy didn't say anything and seemed content to stare at Grantaire in silence.

"Usually, this is the part where you tell me your name." He prompted. "Or I could just call you Apollo."

The blond wrinkled his nose at the name and Grantaire made a note to make sure that he continued to keep calling him that for the rest of his life.

"Enjolras." Enjolras. It fit him perfectly in the most unexpected way. Three distinct syllables that involved a roll of the tongue and a slight hiss at the end. It was a type of name that would only make sense for him almost like the way that people obsessed over something random and exquisite.

A low rumble caught Grantaire's attention, as the waves further out seemed to grow double in size, and he could see the rolling thunder clouds closing in on the shore. The wind picked up in strength and Grantaire wrapped his arms around his chest, trying to fight off the shivers that wrecked his body. The temperature dropped as the wind changed and being soaking wet wasn't helping. He wasn't even sure how Enjolras was alive let alone forming coherent sentences.

"How are you not freezing in there?" From what Grantaire could tell Enjolras had zero to no body fat to insulate some kind of heat. A surge of panic gripped his heart. Could Enjolras be at that point in hypothermia where he didn't even realize that it was  _fucking freezing_? Grantaire had taken a life saving course when he was sixteen, but he couldn't even begin to remember what to do if that were the case. Another rolling wave crashed against the water and he glanced nervously at Enjolras, who was still calmly wading in the water as if the sea wasn't fighting itself.

"You should come out now. Sounds like that storm is closer than we thought." A knowing smirk tugged at Enjolras's lips.

"Go home, Grantaire." Before Grantaire could say anything else, Enjolras dipped back underwater, another flash of red flicking through the air before a large fin curled above the surface. He jumped back with a curse when the fin sent a warning splash at him and then Enjolras was gone.

* * *

Grantaire's mouth felt like cotton and a sound nearly close to a dignified whine escaped his lips as he shoved a fisted arm over his eyes.

"Fuck." He hissed as the hangover ran straight through his skull and down the length of his body. Pulling himself up from the deep indent his body had made on the couch, he gritted his teeth fighting down the nausea that swelled in his stomach. If there was anything he had accomplished over his years of mastering the art of getting black out drunk it was the ability to control his gag reflex. Sand cracked under the pressure of his molars as he clenched his jaw and with a grimace he stood.

His legs gave out from under him, but out of sheer will power he remained standing and practically crawled to the kitchen.

The kitchen was connected to the living room but it felt like an eternity as Grantaire fumbled his way through the dark. He couldn't bring himself to sleep in his old room, one that was the size of a walk in closet and bare of anything that would have resembled a childhood. He meant what he said when he told Eponine he wasn't staying for long, but when she had heard he was going back to clean out the house, all she had done was give him a sad knowing smile and a kiss on the cheek. It had felt almost like a goodbye. His duffle bag rested on the counter, clothes spilling out, and next to it was the grocery bag full of stuff. He hadn't bothered buying any alcohol. He knew that wasn't going to be sparse in the house but food and more importantly painkillers would be.

Ripping the bottle from the box- why the hell was there a box for a bottle of Advil- he didn't even look as he grabbed the closest sharp object he could find and stabbed the seal over the cover. Some things should not be this much work to get. Spilling out two pills into his hand, he dry swallowed them, wincing at the rough scratch of his throat. Part of him knew he should eat something, it was always the worst but necessary thing about a hangover, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Dipping his head under the faucet, he swallowed a few mouthfuls of water and rinsed the sand that he'd carried back from the beach out of his mouth.

The beach. The beach where he had been drinking enough to wallow in endless amounts of self-pity until he was fairly certain what was a mermaid threw a bottle at him.

Mermaid.

He had seen a mermaid.

His sketchbook was open on the coffee table, the pencil dropped on the ground where he had fallen asleep. A groan fumbled from his lips at the scratched drawing of curly hair, an angelic face, and piercing eyes staring up at him. Jesus, he had seen a mermaid. Up until he had turned eighteen, Grantaire had lived by the water. The water lining the small town was probably the least exciting body of water known to man. The surf was fine for the occasional few but the rocks were too large and jagged for anyone really to enjoy. He had seen the rare shark and there had been one minor shipwreck when he was eleven, when an old fisherman's boat had taken on water and sunk to the bottom of the ocean during a storm. Never had he seen a mermaid. The town didn't even talk about them, which was unusual for a population made up of a majority of fishermen.

Unless, he had gone completely crazy. Grantaire wasn't exactly the picture of mental health and he had been drinking. A lot. But he hadn't been that drunk! Not enough to start hallucinating beautiful boys named Enjolras with a fixation on environmental conservation.

"Grantaire!" A singsong voice broke through the quiet morning air and into the dark house. Grantaire groaned but before he could hide the back door swung open letting the smell of cigarette and sea salt waft in.

It wasn't that Grantaire disliked Montparnasse. He was more indifferent towards him. Montparnasse and Eponine had been much closer than Grantaire and Montparnasse had ever been, but for some reason the man had taken a fast liking to Grantaire.

"Grantaire!" Montparnasse threw him a crooked smile as he hurried into the kitchen and wrapped himself around Grantaire for a rough hug. "You bastard! Coming back here and not saying hello or anything!"

"Hello," Grantaire quipped. Montparnasse gave him a hard slap on the back before letting go. "Sorry, I just got in yesterday. Had things to take care of."

"Yeah," Montparnasse said with the same shit-eating grin. "Heard about your old man. The son of a bitch never could keep up with his drink. It was only a matter of time before it caught up with him."

Grantaire wasn't sure what he was supposed to take from that, and he was almost certain that in most social circles he should have been offended. Montparnasse punched him in the shoulder, oblivious to his insult, and Grantaire was pretty positive that the fisherman might hug him again.

"Not like you and me," he said with a laugh like they had been drinking buddies a long time ago. They ran in the same circles but they had never been friends. "Is Eponine with you?"

"No."  _Thank God for that_. Montparnasse was always the one that had gotten Eponine into trouble when they were younger and Grantaire had never pretended to agree with her when she had tried to defend Montparnasse to him.

"Aw," Montparnasse said scratching at his greasy, sandy hair. Flecks of dandruff fell from his head onto his shoulders. "That's a shame."

Grantaire could only hum a response. He almost wished Eponine had come back with him. Maybe then he wouldn't have felt as lonely as he did in his old house. If it were up to him he'd just burn the whole place down and Eponine would've had the gasoline to start it. There was the flash of smugness across Montparnasse that set Grantaire on edge.

"You in town for long?" He asked.

"Long enough to take care of things here." Grantaire replied, intentionally being vague. The last thing he wanted was Montparnasse dropping by uninvited for however long he ended up staying.

"Looking for some cash?" Now  _that_ , Grantaire knew, never ended well when it came to Montparnasse, and he already had a rejection curling on his tongue. "A couple of the guys are getting together to go out tonight. Get a little closer to the reefs and get some merchandise for the boss to sell."

Illegal fishing was something Montparnasse and his friends were well known for, and yet nothing short of burning their boats would have stopped them. He could count the number of times the officials had given two shits about when and where Montparnasse caught his fish. Montparnasse worked for a businessman further inland that had a lot of powerful connections and a long net of control over what happened on his boats. The protection went straight to Montparnasse's head. Grantaire never knew who Montparnasse worked for, and he didn't care. No one had been able to stop them, and all the investigators eventually left empty handed, leaving Montparnasse and his buddies to celebrate another victory.

"I'm looking for one more man to come with us and when I heard you were in town I ran right over." Montparnasse leaned forward with a crazy grin that Grantaire knew only meant trouble.

"Can't." Grantaire shook his head. "I've got a lot of shit to go through here."

"What's one night going to do? We leave at dusk and your back before morning. Easy money." Montparnasse's idea of easy money involved a lot more than fishing nets.

"Next time," Grantaire said, though his tone told Montparnasse that there wouldn't be a next time. He was going to clean up the house and never come back to this godforsaken town ever again. Montparnasse knew better than to push and relaxed back into a slouch. His t-shirt was stained with beer and sweat and smelled like it was used to being out in the sun all day. Grantaire wasn't sure when Montparnasse had last washed it but there were bleach spots on the sleeves and holes along the hem.

"If you need help getting rid of some of this shit," He snaked an arm to reach into the cabinet that had the countless bottles of tequila and pulled one out by the neck. "Like this for example, let me know!"

"Will do." Grantaire frowned, watching as Montparnasse sauntered back towards the door.

"Let's get a drink before you go!" Grantaire didn't respond, and just swung the heavier door shut, twisting the lock for extra measure.

The painkillers weren't working and Montparnasse hadn't helped the pounding in his head. But the house was suddenly too quiet again, and Grantaire felt even more out of place, intimidated by the lifeless things collecting dust. Everything felt like it was glaring at him, just challenging him to get rid of anything and a familiar rock settled deep in his stomach.

"Fuck it," he said, feeling stupid for backing up into a door against memories. Grabbing a shirt from his duffle bag, he snatched his sketchbook and stormed out of the house. His old home sneered at him as he walked away, dragging a burning finger down his spine and he sent an admittedly terrified glance over his shoulder before walking fast towards the beach.

The thing about living by the water was that hardly anyone ever went to the beach unless relatives had come in from out of town. Wide stretches of the beach were empty and Grantaire felt the sand scratch at his bare feet. Reaching the place where he had been swallowing his misery only left him staring out at the empty waters. A bit of sun peaked out from the clouds, but not enough to warm the air, and when Grantaire stepped onto the wet space where sand met water, he felt a cold shiver race through his veins. The water lapped at him lazily and the small rolling waves matched in time with Grantaire's heartbeat. A thrill pulled at his chest as he wondered if this was how Enjolras felt. Was the sea as connected to him and as it was to other aquatic creatures? Or was he simply making up the boy who rode the violent waves like flowers did in a summer breeze? Mermaids were impractical, and someone dropped from Heaven above was also highly impractical. No one could be that breathtaking and yet be walking-swimming- on this miserable planet.

And yet he found himself hoping that he hadn't imagined it all. Hope was not something Grantaire felt often. Yet hope was all he was feeling, and it consumed him, swallowing him whole and strangling him into wanting what he saw to be true. That mermaids-mermen, he guessed- existed in a gray world that he hated. Maybe if that were the case, then the world wouldn't seem so hopeless.

"Enjolras," he said in a near whisper. The water licked at his toes, but blond curls didn't break the surface of the water.

"Enjolras!" He tried again, this time louder. A seagull squawked from the sky and swung down to capture some kind of prey in its mouth.

Nothing. He raked a hand through his dark curls, roughly tugging on the hair curling at the nape of his neck. He kicked some of the sand half heartedly as he moved further down the beach, closer to the rocks that turned deadly during storms. The sound of the waves intensified on the rocks, the echoes of the sound crashing against the sharp, jagged intruders. Earth, dirt, Grantaire, they all were intruding on the deep blue waters by pushing past the imaginary boundaries.

Perched on his barricade, he checked his feet for cuts and then pulled out his sketchbook. Maybe if he could sketch he wouldn't feel like a complete fool. The water jumped up towards him as the waves crashed into the rock, but he was out of reach enough to only feel a slight spray on his face. The picture that he had drunkenly drawn the night before stared up at him with the same intense eyes. Maybe he had made it up. Maybe this is what Eponine knew would happen all along. He was going crazy, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. Except maybe drink.

The memory of Enjolras nearly decapitating him with the bottle he had thrown made the corner of his lips tug into a weak attempt at a smile.

A thought struck him, and there was only a brief moment before he was ripping the picture from his notebook and crumbling the paper into a fist. Tossing the paper as far as he could, he watched as it landed in the water, floating for a second, and then disappearing from sight as a wave pushed it under.

He waited. And waited. And waited.

Nothing.

"Fuck." He muttered under his breath and groaned as he dropped his head down into his hands.

"You're doing this on purpose now." Grantaire jerked his head up and nearly dropped his sketchbook as he swiveled in the direction of the voice. Enjolras was holding the crumbled paper up as he leaned his body against the rocks, a look between amusement and disapproval crossing his face.

"I didn't know how to get you to come back," Grantaire said, feeling like the biggest dork at the breathlessness of his voice. "You ran off before I could get your number."

"I was hoping you would have been drunk enough to have forgotten me," Enjolras said.

"I could never forget you." Grantaire felt the rush of heat race up his neck and to his cheeks as Enjolras unfolded the paper and stared down at the sketch before showing it to Grantaire.

"Apparently not."

"Sorry," Grantaire said. He flexed his foot against one of the rocks nervously and the movement made Enjolras's bright eyes narrow with curiosity. He glided across the water until he was directly in front of Grantaire.

"Are those toes?" He asked, staring intently at Grantaire's foot.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he said feeling brave. Enjolras's frown deepened and he looked at Grantaire's foot skeptically as if trying to weigh on if it was worth it or not.

"C'mon," Grantaire coaxed, waggling his eyebrows at Enjolras's serious expression. "Fair is fair."

The merman toyed with a strand of his hair before nodding. Then, as if he had barely been holding himself back, Enjolras launched himself onto Grantaire's foot. His fingers probed at the arch of his foot and moved his toes around experimentally.

"My sister told me about toes, but I've never actually seen them before myself," Enjolras said with serious concentration on his face. Grantaire had to stifle a laugh at one particular caress of Enjolras's hand. Wide blue eyes looked up at him, alarmed.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked.

"Tickles," Grantaire said with a smile. He gave Enjolras an encouraging nod, and the merman went back to flexing and unflexing Grantaire's toes. Enjolras lifted Grantaire's foot by the ankle and pressed his ear to the sole of his foot.

"Is this the part where King Triton destroys an ugly statue of me and forbids you to ever see me again?" Grantaire quipped, but Enjolras glanced up at him with a dubious flare of confusion across his face.

"Why would my father destroy a statue of you?"

"It's just a joke," Grantaire said, waving off Enjolras's confusion before he froze, realization kicking him in the head. "Wait, your father is King Triton? Like actual King Triton?"

"How do you know about him?" Enjolras's frown deepened. "He doesn't ever come to the surface."

"He's a pretty important guy up here," was all Grantaire could respond, mumbling over the queasiness that was settling in his stomach.

"Well, he let Cosette keep Marius. I doubt he'd be opposed to a statue of you. An ugly one or not," Enjolras said. Grantaire didn't realize he was joking until a small smile pulled at his lips while he continued to idly play with Grantaire's big toe.

"Keep Marius? He's like a pet turtle or—" Enjolras shook his head, tangled blond curls and seaweed falling into his face. Grantaire fought the urge to reach forward and tuck it back.

"He used to be like you. Human. His family shipwrecked and Cosette found him floating on some debris from the ship."

"How does that work?"

Enjolras gave Grantaire a knowing smile and shook his head as he released Grantaire's foot. So, a secret, it seemed. As if Enjolras wasn't already a mystery.

Enjolras ducked underwater and didn't come back up for several moments. Grantaire began to feel the nagging sense of worry flutter to life in his stomach. Had he pushed too hard? But then, smooth long hands popped out of the water and onto the rock.

Grantaire felt his mouth dry as lean sculpted muscles coiled under pale skin. Enjolras lifted himself from the water, twisting his body with ease to sit a little ways away from Grantaire. Enjolras's shoulders were broad and toned from controlling the sea like he had the night Grantaire first saw him, but his torso funneled down to narrow hips where skin met tail. The deep spiraling tattoo started at his shoulder and spun around his arm to his wrist like a snake, intricate designs and sharp curls incorporated in the ribbon of ink. They looked almost like hieroglyphics of some sort, but he had never seen anything like them. On his other arm, old pieces of leather and rope wrapped around his wrist like tokens he had collected over the years.

Grantaire held his breath as he held out his hand, not touching until Enjolras nodded his consent. The smooth skin of his stomach was warm. Strange, Grantaire thought, half expecting Enjolras to feel like the water itself. Enjolras stilled under Grantaire's touch before he forced himself to relax, letting out a deep breath between his teeth.

"Tell me when to stop," Grantaire said, looking up at Enjolras. "If you get too uncomfortable."

Enjolras only nodded, a strand of curls falling over his face again. He shoved it away with a scowl, but continued to relax, nodding for Grantaire to continue.

On the smooth skin, flecks of scales littered his shoulders and the middle of his ribs, almost like freckles. But unlike freckles, which were brown and ordinary, the scales were a translucent color that flared into red when Enjolras moved in the sunlight. They matched the fin on Enjolras's tail, which curled and uncurled in the air lazily as if lapping up the mist from the waves. But the scales on Enjolras's tail were a different matter. His tail was slim and lean and very clearly strong, red with passion and fire, like sea glass. Even though Enjolras was sprawled on the rocks, Grantaire couldn't help but feel like he was petting a lion. With one flick of his body he could probably break all of Grantaire's ribs. He had once seen a video of a couple of giraffes beating each other with their necks and wondered if that was how mermaids fought. The image—and possibly just the absurdity of the fact that he was  _touching a merman_ —sent Grantaire into a fit of hysterical giggles. Enjolras stiffened under Grantaire's hand and curled his tail away.

"You shouldn't have asked to see it if you were only going to laugh at me," he said sounding offended.

"No. I'm not…" But Grantaire let out another fit of giggles that made his cheeks hurt from smiling. God, he hadn't smiled this long in ages. A blush crawled up Enjolras's face and Grantaire had to shove his laughter back down his chest.

"No, it's not you. I'm sorry. No, it's beautiful. You're beautiful. Christ, it's like you're Apollo himself."

Enjolras's blue eyes widened and he gaped at Grantaire, opening and closing his mouth as if trying to say something, but nothing came out, and something told Grantaire that it wasn't often Enjolras was left speechless. He felt a bit of pride warm him at being the one who accomplished such a feat. But then that familiar vigilant expression appeared again as Enjolras's eyes narrowed.

"You're very strange for a human."

"How so?" Instead of answering, Enjolras poked Grantaire's nose, letting his finger trace down the crooked bridge.

"My dad broke it when I was twelve," Grantaire heard himself saying.

"Why?" Enjolras asked, letting his fingers rest on the dark shadows under Grantaire's eyes as he leaned back to stare at Grantaire. And God, he hadn't realized just how close Enjolras had been to him until he moved away. Something deep inside Grantaire wanted to pull him close. Grantaire mentally manhandled that feeling into the depths of his subconscious.

"Was in the way." He shrugged. Enjolras didn't say anything, settling for pinching his face tight. His hands moved farther up Grantaire's face until they rested in his dark curls.

"You have hair like Courfeyrac," he said, sounding troubled. "Who cut it off?"

"Um…" Enjolras's hands in Grantaire's hair felt nice. "No one. Is short hair a bad thing?"

He tugged at one of the plaits but it didn't seem to help Enjolras's irritation.

"It doesn't grow back!" Enjolras exclaimed before an outraged expression twisted on his face. "Did your father do this to you as well?"

Grantaire chuckled and shook his head. Taking Enjolras's wrists, he untangled his long fingers from his hair, because if Enjolras didn't stop playing with his hair, Grantaire wouldn't have been able to hold back the noises that were building up in his throat.

"Human hair grows back."

"Well ours doesn't," Enjolras said, as if it had turned into an argument, a strange glint of emotion passing over him.

"Why did your friend, Courfeyrac, cut his hair off then?" Grantaire retorted. A stormy look passed over the young merman's face and Grantaire swore his tail flashed in the light with an angry red.

"He didn't. When we were children, some fishermen grabbed him by the hair and cut it off. They would have taken him as well if Combeferre hadn't distracted them." Enjolras's tail gave a violent flick. Grantaire's brow furrowed when Enjolras cast another worried glance at Grantaire, as if he thought he was lying about something as stupid as hair until…

_Oh._

That's when he realized the sheer air of reverence Enjolras's fingers had possessed when he touched Grantaire. The fingers in Grantaire's hair that had been mourning for something that Grantaire didn't appreciate.

"How did he distract them?" Grantaire frowned, suddenly feeling terrible for trivializing Enjolras's lamenting. It was habit for Grantaire to downplay anything that could have been considered a loss. But if Enjolras wanted to grieve for something as silly as Grantaire's hair, Grantaire was going to be there to give him what he needed.

"He sunk their boat." Grantaire froze, and Enjolras sheepishly tugged at a loose plait that barely reached past his neck. Grantaire was right then, about Enjolras and his tail. All beauty and delicateness, yet still capable of being terrible. Grantaire hadn't thought about it until then, but he was pretty sure that mermaids, not the ones in cartoon musicals, but rather the ones drawn from myths and the old tales, drowned people. Enjolras was glancing at him from under long blond lashes and he was all but twisting the plait off with his nervous tugging. Grantaire lifted his hand and Enjolras let him fiddle with the hollow shell attached at the end. Slowly, Grantaire curved his palm to cup Enjolras's cheek. When Enjolras didn't immediately pull away, Grantaire let his thumb move in a circle on his cheekbone.

Enjolras gasped and pulled his head away, and the apology was already bubbling at Grantaire's lips, because damnit he barely  _knew_ him. But then, he caught the delighted smile on Enjolras's lips that had Grantaire thinking his heart may have stopped for a moment.

Christ, how could someone be so beautiful?

Enjolras pushed Grantaire's sleeve up his arm, and his fingers traced the intricate lines of the tattoo on Grantaire's forearm.

"It's a compass," he said.

"I know," Enjolras said with a knowing lift of his eyebrow. "It's amazing."

Grantaire shrugged, feeling uncomfortable at the sudden praise. "It's just something I drew when I was a teenager."

Enjolras stared at him in awe and again Grantaire felt awkward in his own skin. He shifted beneath Enjolras's grip.

"You drew this?" A flush of embarrassment crept onto Grantaire's cheeks and he raked a hand through his wild hair, grabbing a fistful of curls with his free hand.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "It's nothing special."

It wasn't. Most of the time, when people would ask him why he got his tattoo, he would reply, "Because I fucking wanted one." Depending on the person at the time, he would change his tone from playful to downright irritate, where in that case, a "piss off" would follow. He was never in the mood to share his reasoning behind things. Couldn't people just accept that he wanted to do it and move on? The only person he had ever truly felt comfortable talking to had been Eponine, and now Enjolras, apparently. Eponine, he had known for years, had grown up with her. They had been through a lot. He wasn't sure what kind of hold Enjolras had over him, but he wasn't going to fight it.

"Tell me more about your friends," Grantaire said, pulling his hand away, even though it felt like he was trying to break a rubber band. "Are they like you or what?"

"Like me?" Enjolras frowned.

"Well yeah," Grantaire sighed, leaning back on his hands, propping himself onto the rock. Anything to keep his hands out of Enjolras' hair. "You don't have shark friends that can talk or something do you?"

"Sharks and merrows keep to their respected spaces. If you don't antagonize them they won't bother you," Enjolras said, somehow blending both matter of fact and defensive tones that were sharp and to the point.

"Merrows?"

"Well, that's our species name, just like you're a human. I'm a merrow." Enjolras reclined on his stomach, twisting his body so that the sun was kissing his back. A long dorsal fin, the same color as his fin,but with red spines like his tail, flexed down the middle of his back.

"Why?" Enjolras asked, lifting a brow.

"Most humans," Grantaire smirked, not feeling nearly as stupid as he thought he would be saying this. "Would generalize your species as mermaids."

He felt pretentious putting it in that context, but it seemed to work for Enjolras.

"What?" Enjolras jolted, his brow creasing. "That makes no sense whatsoever! I am not a maid. I am a man."

"I know—" Grantaire started to say, but the passion that flared in Enjolras's tail traveled up his face and he shook his head.

"And I have every right to be classified in the same group as the females are, and vice versa. Besides, there is no need to differentiate between maids and men. We are of the same species and therefore equals."

A slow, small smile started to creep up Grantaire's lips as he watched Enjolras work himself up.

"Yes, we are a very sexist society. But most of the sailors who made up the stories were more focused on the…erm… aspects of females." Enjolras's brow lowered and his fist clenched as he shook his head.

"That's like saying all birds are seagulls. A seagull is no better than, say, a sparrow. That is also to say, that a sparrow is no better than a seagull. " Enjolras was staring at him with his impassioned blue eyes that would have made anyone back off instantly. Instead, Grantaire stared right back.

"Yes, but seagulls are quite a bit bigger than sparrows." Grantaire hummed and tilted his head. "You're saying that they are all the same but deserve their distinction."

"I'm saying that it is ignorant to  _generalize_ an entire species based solely on the popularity of one subgroup because of the belief that they are incapable of the same standards of the other subgroup," he said, jutting his chin out with a stubborn glint in his eyes. "I'm  _saying_ that I do not want to be generalized as a mer _maid_ and I would not want them to be generalized as a mer _man._ We are merrows, a united kind that deserve the same respect and acknowledgements for all."

Grantaire's brow disappeared into his hairline before he nodded.

Christ, he was falling for a fucking merrow.

"So, do your friends feel this as strongly as you do? Or does your love for the equality of all sea creatures consume your free time?" Grantaire nudged Enjolras teasingly.

"I have friends." Enjolras rolled his eyes before he looked away. "I'm sorry. Combeferre says that I can be overwhelming for some."

"What's Combeferre like?" Grantaire asked instead. He never wanted Enjolras to be sorry for being passionate about anything, but he was already pushing his luck too much by just _being_ with Enjolras to correct him. Passion was something Grantaire hadn't truly seen in a long time.

Enjolras spoke of all his friends in great detail, stopping only to ask if Grantaire had something similar from the human perspective every so often. Combeferre and Courfeyrac had been his longest friends, and he spoke of them in both moments of frustration and admiration. Where Courfeyrac was juvenile, Combeferre was mature, and when Combeferre worried too much, Courfeyrac was there to ease some of the tension away. Enjolras also went into further detail about Marius, who had been saved by Enjolras's sister, Cosette, from a shipwreck years before Grantaire had even been born. However, he still remained tight lipped about how exactly she turned Marius. Cosette seemed to be the ice to Enjolras's fire, but not in a biting or cold sort of way. She was more like first snow in the winter, soft and pretty and sparkling with life. Marius was what Grantaire had explained to Enjolras as the "adorkable" friend.

"He's the friend that's all blushing and awkward, but at the end of the day has your back," he had said when Enjolras asked. Of course, that meant he had to spend nearly forty minutes falling in and out of an argument with him about the meaning of "having your back." By the time Enjolras was finished, Grantaire was itching to sketch.

"Do you have friends?" Enjolras asked as he slid back into the water, his skin not used to being away from the ocean for so long. Grantaire had settled on his stomach, propping his head on his fists.

"I have Eponine. She and I left this place first chance we could get together." He shrugged.

"Oh." Something seemed to deflate in Enjolras and he was tugging on the short plait again.

"She's as close to a Cosette as I've got, I guess." Enjolras tried to hide the way he perked up at Grantaire's words, but Grantaire was past the point of missing Enjolras's subtle cues. A humpback whale could have jumped over them and all Grantaire would see was the way that Enjolras tugged on his short plait when he was nervous, or how the muscles around his mouth twitched when he tried not to smile.

"So, why did you come back?"

A fake cynical smile marred Grantaire's lips and he sighed. "My dad passed away. Came back to clear up his things. I guess… I don't know. I considered just leaving everything. Let whoever wanted his shit to take it but…I guess I thought I would find… _something_ that could explain why… I don't know, why he hated life as much as he did. Why he hated me."

A burn that wasn't from alcohol sheered the back of his throat and he turned his head away from Enjolras so that he wouldn't see his tears but Enjolras swam around the rock, making Grantaire look at him. He lifted his hand to soothingly knead his fingers through Grantaire's dark locks. Saltwater dripped from his palm and down Grantaire's temple, but he couldn't care less. Sighing, he relaxed under Enjolras's touch. Enjolras' fingers were like magic, easing away the tension that had all but suffocated any of the happiness Grantaire had acquired over the past couple of hours on the rock.

"Where have you been all my life?" Grantaire asked before thinking. He cringed and covered his face with his hands. "Oh Christ! Did I seriously just say that?"

Enjolras chuckled and Grantaire knew his face was deep red.

"Pretend you never heard me say that," he demanded from behind his hands. Enjolras's hands ran through Grantaire's hair with the same amount of reverence as he had when he had first touched it, and Grantaire all but melted into the touch. They stayed silent for several moments, the sound of their breathing and the rumble of the waves filling in the gaps for them.

"You know I can't come back again," Enjolras whispered eventually. Grantaire peeked through his hands. Enjolras's face was mere inches from his own. Grantaire could feel his breath on his skin.

"I wasn't even supposed to talk to you last night," Enjolras said, a sad smile pulling at his lips.

"Would you mind if I sketched you?" Grantaire asked, instead of what he really wanted to say. "I promise I won't show it to anyone else. I just… Please?"

Enjolras nodded.

Resting his head on his hands, Enjolras watched Grantaire as he sketched, his pencil taking slow careful strokes in comparison to the quick scratches he had done the night before. He made sure that he got the eyes right, and the way that Enjolras's mouth naturally curved up when he wasn't holding it in the tense line he usually had when he was being inquisitive.

Grantaire didn't think when he had pushed a strand of Enjolras's hair out of his face, letting his fingers linger longer on his skin than necessary. Because Enjolras had made him feel things he hadn't felt in years. Hope, admiration, and vulnerability were things he had thought died in him a long time ago. And perhaps something more. But like most things in Grantaire's life, love remained unattainable. But he had his sketch and in under a minute it became the most prized possession that he'd ever owned.

* * *

Grantaire packed instead of sleeping that night. He drank half a fifth of cheap vodka that didn't affect him in the slightest because he was still  _feeling,_  even when the sun was making the sky pink and the morning air was noticeably colder while he shoved random knick-knacks into boxes and garbage bags. But at that point, he had half the house packed away. A few more hours and he would be finished.

He should shower, he'd thought. He really should have. He smelled like sweat and dust and mold. But he also smelled like saltwater and he could still remember the feeling of Enjolras's fingers tracing his skin, pressing into the hollows and juts of his joints. He could still feel the reverence from Enjolras's touch. He wasn't ready to give that up. He would shower when he was inland, away from the sea, and away from Enjolras.

It felt stupid, honestly. The whole "so close yet so far" effect was really grating. He craved Enjolras more than anything, but he was gone in the water and the ocean was really fucking huge.

Add in the fact that what Enjolras and Grantaire did, they could never do again. People didn't just sit around and explore one another. Enjolras was from a different world. And wasn't that just a kick in the balls. They were practically neighbors and yet quite literally worlds apart.

Figures, that the one good thing to bring back the emotions stirring in his chest that he had been trying so hard to find again, was something as ridiculous as a merman, or a merrow.  _Whatever!_

And the way Enjolras had touched him… like… he was…special. People just  _didn't do that!_

Pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes, Grantaire crouched low until he could smell the old stale mildew from the carpet. The cold press of the wall seeped into his back. He sagged into the cooler embrace and let the frigid memories of the walls pull him back into reality. They were enough to remind him that life wasn't like that. Life wasn't fair and he had grown past the age of wallowing. At least, wallowing while sober, because the vodka wasn't doing a damn thing.

Shrugging on a flannel shirt over his t-shirt, Grantaire tugged his knitted beanie over his curls and kicked open the door with his foot as he dragged two boxes worth of china and chipped plates into town.

"I was wondering when my boy was going to come say hello to me!" Madeline said, her wrinkled lipstick mouth twisting into a warm smile when he edged his way into a small café, struggling to fit through the door. She didn't even let him put the boxes down before pressing a kiss to his cheek and reaching up to hug him around the neck.

"Hi, Maddy." He hummed as the comforting smell of her perfume made his nose itch. He dropped the boxes onto one of the mismatched tables and winced as the glass clinked in protest. Maybe he should have wrapped those in a towel or something but Maddy waved off the boxes for the trash that they were and held out her arms, waving him towards her. He crouched down and hugged her properly, loving the fact that she held onto him longer than necessary and letting her soft hands filter the intimate tenderness into his skin.

"How's Eponine," she asked when they broke apart. "You two aren't causing any trouble?"

"No," he said. He gave her a mischievous wink. Maddy was a widow for as long as Grantaire could remember. The small café that she owned was one of the few places in the fishing town that made enough income from locals and the few lost tourists to stay afloat when the economy sank. Aside from the few new wrinkles around her eyes, she looked the same as ever. Long clunky sea glass necklace, gold earrings, and shiny rings covered sun worn skin that smelled like cinnamon bread and the sandalwood soap she used. He absently noticed that the table he'd dropped the boxes on was the same one he had stationed himself in as a teenager and drew every day to get out of the house until Maddy had just hired him. He ran his fingers over the painted wood. That seemed like lifetimes ago.

"I'm sorry about your father," she said, her eyes softening as she brought a hand to his cheek. He leaned into the touch and let her see the small twitch of his lips. She mirrored his attempts at a smile, but she had always been a lot stronger than he'd ever been. She was the only one who didn't tell him what a bastard his father was either and for some reason he appreciated that.

"Where do you want these?" He asked, tearing his eyes away from her warm green ones.

"There's fine," she said quickly. Opening the box, she started pulling out the plates and dishes. Inspecting as she separated them, she cast a searching glance up at him, checking to see if he had found the thing he had lost when he was a kid. Maddy knew more about Grantaire than even Eponine. Truthfully, Grantaire hadn't needed to explain a lot to her anyway. She seemed to pick up on things he didn't even notice himself.

"Have you finally found someone to settle down with yet?" A bitter laugh escaped from Grantaire's lips, but a pointed look from Maddy killed the sneer that had been growing on his face. The heat of a blush crawled up his neck and he sent an apologetic smile to her.

"So, I take it as being complicated?" She asked peering over at him from a plate. Grantaire fiddled with the rack holding the souvenir postcards, hiding himself partially behind the stand.

"Isn't it always?"

"You've never been simple. You've always been extraordinary, Grantaire." He rolled his eyes when her back was turned to him. After yesterday, Grantaire was probably one of the simplest things on the planet.

"Eponine's taking night classes." His form of subtly was like a truck with a parade but Maddy didn't push him further.

"She told me! She sends me e-mails unlike some people." Grantaire cowered playfully under her glare.

"I didn't know you knew  _how_ to e-mail."

"Of course I do," She said with a wave of her hand. "I'm on the line now!"

A cup of coffee from God, an hour of explaining to Maddy how to use her new laptop, and some more fretting, with a dash of hugs and kisses put Grantaire in better spirits. The sun was even peeking through the clouds and the fog that usually suffocated any joy in the town cleared away. Like an addict to a flame, though, Grantaire headed back home the long way, the one that involved him needing to walk along the pier.

The sound of the water was a welcoming hello when he stepped on the wooden platform. The deep grains of the pier creaked as the planks absorbed the heat from the sun and groaned under Grantaire's weight. Thankfully, most of the boats that were docked blocked Grantaire's view of the ocean but that didn't stop him from looking. God, he was a masochist.

 _I'm taking in a last view of the ocean before I leave._ Which was true. Once he left, which he hoped would be later that day, he never planned on coming back. But the snarky side, the one with the voice that was cynical and harsh called him out on his bullshit.

_And hoping that you see some blond curls again._

"Grantaire!" Grantaire didn't even hide his groan when he heard Montparnasse's shout. He kept walking but, "Grantaire!"

Dashing a quick glance over his shoulder, he saw the fisherman practically jump from his boat onto the dock before it even stopped, leaving his men to anchor them.

"Grantaire!" Montparnasse was beyond excited and sprinted over to him, his wide eyes and red from a night of illegal fishing. If he didn't know better he would have thought Montparnasse was high. But Montparnasse had stopped using when he had realized he could make more with smuggling than selling drugs in a back alley like when they were kids.

"You have to see this!" Montparnasse snatched his arm and nearly ripped it out of the socket as he spun Grantaire towards his boat.

"Look, Montparnasse," Grantaire started impatiently. "I'm not interested in-"

"You have to see this!" Montparnasse insisted again. He shook Grantaire by the shoulders and bounced on his feet. Dropping back he let out a howl and punched the air before he beamed at Grantaire. "This is my ticket!"

Grantaire let him pull him to his boat, dragging his feet on the dock as they went. Partially because he'd never seen Montparnasse this excited before, and partially because Grantaire knew there could be something that would distract Montparnasse long enough for Grantaire to duck away without him noticing if he was working. Montparnasse was a lot of things, but unfortunately he was a hard worker.

"Look what we caught messing with our nets!"

Grantaire cursed as Montparnasse made him trip over the ledge of his boat, and checked his leg for blood. Wrenching his arm from Montparnasse's hold he pressed his lips tight.

Two of Montparnasse's strongest men, Pierre and Nicolas, were fighting with a tangled net.

"You piece of shit." Pierre hissed when a red tail snapped at him and smacked him like a punch. He kicked down, eliciting a cry that sent a freezing finger down Grantaire's spine.

"Christ." Grantaire croaked. Pierre snatched a handful of blond curls and net and all but dragged Enjolras's withering form out onto the open deck.

"Can you believe it?" Montparnasse punched Grantaire in the shoulder and jumped up and down with another shout to the sky. The same fierce glare was burning in Enjolras's blue eyes as he fought Pierre. Enjolras twisted and pulled against the old rope wrapped tightly around his arms pinning them to his sides. Grantaire could see the beginning of red and black burns and bruises marring his beautiful skin, making his stomach revolt against him.

"Enjolras…"

Enjolras thrashed around towards his name and stilled. He gaped at Grantaire, his pink lips twisting into a confused frown.

"You know this thing?" Montparnasse lost some of his triumph and Grantaire felt the dangerous drop in temperature. He'd encroached on Montparnasse's territory, and the idea that Enjolras had become Montparnasse's territory almost sent Grantaire on a violent rampage. A simmering rage bubbled deep within Grantaire at the thought of Enjolras being Montparnasse's  _property_. He forced himself to stay impassive. Montparnasse wasn't above beating someone unconscious and leaving them in the middle of the ocean to wake up. He wasn't going to be any help to Enjolras dead.

"It's a great name," Grantaire said, and before Montparnasse could catch on he crossed his arms over his chest. "What are you going to do with him?"

He sent a cursory look over Enjolras's body. He was paler than he had been the day before and it looked so wrong to see him trapped like some kind of animal, but other than the bruising from his fighting, he seemed relatively unharmed.

Montparnasse's smugness was smothering, but anything was better than irritated and murderous.

"Call in camera crews. Get the word out. Hold this thing up like the prize catch it is and-"

"He." Grantaire snapped. "It's a  _he._ "

Enjolras sucked a sharp breath in between his lips and Grantaire thought Enjolras was going to  _argue,_ because  _he would,_  but when he sent a quick glare over at Enjolras, he saw that Pierre had planted his foot on Enjolras's fin. Pierre lifted a brow but didn't move, watching as Enjolras struggled beneath him. Clenching his jaw, he forced himself to turn back to Montparnasse and not body check Pierre into the water.

"And that's not going to be what gets you out of this fucking place," he said.

The thought of Montparnasse dragging Enjolras through the town like the catch of the day had Grantaire seeing red but he kept himself in check. Most of Montparnasse's crew had stopped working to watch, waiting for Montparnasse to take the lead in regards to Grantaire's fate. To the rest of them, Grantaire was just some dude that Montparnasse had brought on the boat. Some of them weren't as oblivious as Montparnasse about Grantaire's feelings towards the fisherman. Pierre in particular was watching him with a heavy air of suspicion.

"Why not?" Montparnasse asked put off by Grantaire's lack of enthusiasm.

"What's going to happen?" Grantaire spoke like he was scolding Montparnasse. If he played it right, Montparnasse would take it as a challenge and be easier for Grantaire to talk circles around. "Some pompous film crew comes and interviews you for five minutes. Then what? They take him and leave you with an empty five minutes of fame, an emptier wallet, and you'll still be stuck in the same damn boat as before."

Montparnasse frowned, letting Grantaire's words seep into his sun fried brain. He could see the pieces fighting to fit together.

"So, what do you suppose we do then?" Pierre asked impatiently.

_Shit._

Grantaire hadn't thought that far ahead. Montparnasse was watching him, waiting for an answer, and Grantaire had to fight a grimace from pulling his face tight. He worried the inside of his lip until he tasted blood as he looked down at Enjolras. Enjolras, who had been thankfully silent, was staring up at Grantaire, unreadable. White hands were clenched around the net, and Enjolras's breathing was starting to get shallow, his lips chapping. If Grantaire hadn't seen Enjolras baking in the sun the day before he wouldn't have even noticed. But he needed to get Enjolras to water, and stall until he could figure something out.

Spinning to Montparnasse, Grantaire wrapped his arms around himself.

"Keep him quiet. Build up demand for him." He said. "Sell him to the highest bidder. That way you have more control in the situation. You get the cash and you can negotiate terms about who exactly found him in the first place."

"What do you mean negotiate?" Montparnasse's frown turned into a full on pout. " _I_ was the one who found it."

"And then you bring on questions of  _how_ you found him, don't you? And when people find out exactly how you found him, because someone  _will_ talk, you run into the certain kind of people who would want to take away everything and leave you dry. You'd be making yourself vulnerable."

Montparnasse didn't say anything as he sent a glare to his captured merrow. His dark expression would have bore a hole in the merrow, if it had been anyone else but Enjolras. Enjolras met his glare with one of his own, still looking severe despite his weakening state.

"What's in it for you?" Montparnasse asked in a tone that lacked the earlier child like glee and was strictly business. "What do you want?"

"Let me draw him." The lie was fast on his lips and burned his tongue all the same. His picture of Enjolras weighed heavily in his pocket, safely hidden in his wallet. He glanced over at Enjolras. The hurt that flashed over Enjolras's face was like a knife to the chest that kept twisting until he felt like he couldn't even breathe. It was physically painful to not run to him and cradle him, begging for his forgiveness.

Montparnasse's snort forced him back into their conversation.

"Alright," he said holding out his hand. Grantaire grasped his firmly, restraining himself from twisting the fisherman's arm out of the socket and tossing him overboard. Montparnasse sent Pierre a knowing smirk, but Pierre didn't seem as taken with Grantaire's bargain. "Wrap it in that tarp. Get it in the truck. Let's go before anyone else comes snooping around."

Grantaire watched as Nicolas tossed the tarp over Enjolras. The dry old cracked material covering Enjolras was too hot though, and Grantaire was snatching a bucket before he knew what he was doing. Dipping the bucket over the side of the boat, he was careful to make sure he poured the water evenly over where he knew Enjolras's body was. An audible gasp came from beneath the tarp, and  _goddamnit,_ this was not suppose to happen! Grantaire all but threw the bucket aside and stalked off the boat.

"Meet you at your place in an hour." He pretended to not see Montparnasse's smirk or hear the way Pierre and Nicolas lifted Enjolras in their arms with a wet splash of curses and struggles.

* * *

Montparnasse's house reeked of fish and booze with a thick smoke of cigarettes heavy in the air. The stench of nicotine made Grantaire's hands shake, the simple want of cigarette only adding to his nerves.

"You took your time," Claquesous said when he opened the door. Claquesous was one of Montparnasse's friends, although Grantaire would describe him as more of a shadow. The dark man was as silent as the grave, and when he spoke his voice was the sound of pure nightmares. Grantaire didn't even care that he was exaggerating. Claquesous was terrifying. There would be weeks when Grantaire would never see Claquesous, but the undeniable sensation that someone was watching was always there whenever he ran into Montparnasse. He was downright ruthless. Where Pierre was quick tempered and brutal, Claquesous was cool and impervious. Grantaire had never seen him in action but he remembered the night that Eponine had stumbled to his place, looking ready to pass out after a night with Montparnasse and his gang. The things she told him about Claquesous nearly had him puking his guts out. Claquesous liked to take his time, and Grantaire liked to keep his interactions with the man nonexistent.

"Had some things I needed to get." Montparnasse's place was a three-story beach house that wasn't even remotely close to the beach. It was on a hill that towered over everyone else in the town and gave him a perfect view of the coast. He had the two other stories built onto his already disastrous shack he called a house after his first walk from the police when they couldn't hold any of the illegal fishing on him. The house towered over the town like one giant middle finger. Trucks and beat up cars littered the long drive that kept the rest of the town at an extended reach.

The anxiety had built in Grantaire's chest when it had taken longer than he had expected to get what he'd need to make a quick get away. It had been closer to a little after noon by the time he had finished leaving his clues for Eponine, in case she got a phone call from the cops telling her that his body had washed up on the beach.

"Grantaire!" Montparnasse jumped from his leather recliner, beer in hand and welcoming him with open arms. Montparnasse wrapped his arms around Grantaire, pounding him in the back with an enthusiastic hand. "You were right! I've already got a couple contacts interested!"

"Well it's a good thing I brought some celebration with me!" Grantaire smiled pulling the bottles of scotch from his bag.

Montparnasse took the bottles with a whistle. Pierre, Nicolas, Claquesous, and another of Montparnasse's crew, Babet, gathered around as Montparnasse pulled out the glasses.

"Ah, no thanks," Grantaire said waving off a glass from Montparnasse. He grabbed one of the bottlenecks in an open cooler and popped the cap off on the side of the counter with practiced ease. "Scotch makes my hand shaky. After I'm finished sketching."

Montparnasse shrugged and downed Grantaire's glass instead. Wincing at the burn, he let out a laugh that wheezed from between his teeth, nodding approvingly at the taste. It should have been a crime for people to be drinking the aged liquor like it was cheap tequila, but this had been what Grantaire had been hoping for when he'd packed the bottles. Montparnasse never had enough patience to just savor the flavor of something exquisite.

"Let's toast boys," Montparnasse said holding up his glass. The others followed. "My friends, our ticket out of this dump is just below our feet. To us."

The rest chorused Montparnasse before downing their scotch. Grantaire took a sip of his beer, the alcohol barely touching his lips as he watched them all drink the scotch. When the cups were set back on the counter, the mixed colors of glass and ceramic slamming with a  _thunk_ , Grantaire snatched the scotch and poured another round.

"Shit, Grantaire," Montparnasse said. "Your old man kept all the good stuff hidden. Selfish prick."

"Yeah, well, he's dead now. So drink up before he comes back from the dead and claims this shit." Grantaire snapped, twitching his lips into a smirk. The others chuckled and again drank the scotch.

And he kept them drinking until the bottle was finished.

Babet was red in the face as he and Nicolas laughed out haggard crude jokes that sent them falling on one another. Pierre was playing an intense game of solitary, cursing at no one in particular whenever he got stuck. Claquesous had snatched a bottle of whiskey from Grantaire's bag and stumbled to the balcony sullenly, drinking by himself in a lawn chair.

When Grantaire pulled another bottle of expensive scotch out, Montparnasse hummed and grabbed Grantaire's face, the cold sweat from the beer can he had been milking in favor of drinking the hard liquor dampening Grantaire's cheek.

"It hasn't been the same without you," Montparnasse said sincerely. If Grantaire had been in any other place with himself, he would have been touched by the acceptance. When he had been a kid it was all he had ever wanted, craved like he craved booze most nights. But not anymore.

Grantaire sighed, raking a hand through his wild hair before slamming his palm on the counter and pouring Montparnasse another, longer, harder amount of amber liquor into his glass, and connecting his still half empty bottle of beer with him. Montparnasse lifted his glass.

"Salut," Montparnasse said drinking.

"Alright," Grantaire sighed rubbing his hands together. "Let's see him. You guys are making me jealous that I'm not as drunk as you."

Montparnasse nodded and stood on shaky legs.

"Pierre. Babet." The two followed, Pierre swiping at the cards on the table like a petulant child as he stood.

The beach house not on a beach, had one of the only doors that led away from the house on the third floor with a long stairwell leading to the front door and Grantaire was hoping that there was another way out. A side stairwell was connected to the second floor but was in perfect view of the windows in the living room where Nicolas and Claquesous were. Grantaire tightened his sweaty palms into a fist around his sketchbook as they descended down to the first level. Babet pulled out a set of keys as they reached a heavy wooden door. When the basement opened, Grantaire nearly gagged at the smell. He pinched his mouth, glad that the basement was dark enough that the others didn't see him trying not to vomit. Unfazed, Montparnasse switched on the lights, bathing the room in an eerily similar type of lighting that had been in a horror movie. Coolers lined the walls and Grantaire knew better than to think they had more alcohol in them. Nets and rope were crumbled in the corner and a workbench lined with knives sat against the opposite wall, where Montparnasse worked on the fish he caught commercially. A bucket on the side held the remains of what Montparnasse had caught that day, scales and fish heads littering the floor.

Grantaire wasn't sure if he was horrified or furious as Babet and Pierre walked over to a meat freezer with a padlock keeping the lid shut. Keys jangled against the metal as Babet flipped through them with a nonchalant ease about him as if he was trying to open his car door. Grantaire slammed his mouth shut to keep from screaming at Babet to  _hurry the fuck up_!

When Babet unlocked the padlock, he shared a glance at Pierre who nodded, bracing himself. Then lifting the lid, Pierre threw his hands into the freezer. Water splashed onto the floor and Enjolras's red tail flicked out.

"Motherfuck-" Pierre cursed before gritting his teeth as he dragged Enjolras up by the hair and Grantaire would have grinned in pride, because Enjolras was slowly becoming the bane in Pierre's asshole existence. Pierre twisted his fist tangled in Enjolras's hair and pulled hard, ripping a soundless cry from the blond.

 _Oh God._ Grantaire was going to be sick. Enjolras's hair. His beautiful curls were gone. His long hair had been cut into a ragged short length that was only long enough to fall over Enjolras's eyes. The proud plaits tangled in seaweed were gone.

" _He didn't. When we were children some fishermen grabbed him by the hair and cut it off. They would have taken him as well if Combeferre hadn't distracted them."_

The memory of Enjolras's hands in Grantaire's hair was almost too much. He could remember every touch, every combing hand through Grantaire's hair like he had  _lost_ something.

"I still can't believe it." Montparnasse slung an arm over Grantaire's shoulder and it took everything Grantaire had to not rip it off.

"I need to talk to you," Grantaire whispered through clenched teeth. Montparnasse, for as oblivious as he could be, seemed to sense Grantaire's barely concealed rage. Frowning, he nodded and turned Grantaire away from Pierre and Babet.

"Something wrong?" Montparnasse crossed his arms, his biceps flexing beneath his worn t-shirt.

"I didn't want to say this in front of the others," Grantaire murmured. "But I found some stuff at my house you'd be interested in."

"And why couldn't you say that in front of the others?" Montparnasse whispered, confused.

"Because." Grantaire hissed glancing over at Babet and Pierre suspiciously. To Montparnasse it seemed like Grantaire was trying to keep what he was about to say between them. But Grantaire was checking to make sure Babet and Pierre didn't touch another hair on Enjolras's head. He wasn't going to let that happen ever again.

"You're about to become a pretty powerful figure, yeah?" Montparnasse nodded, his smug smile appearing. It disappeared as quickly as it came when Grantaire shook his head. "Then you're going to need to start picking and choosing who you keep as your equals. Start making a name for yourself."

"I'm-"

"They're using you, Mont." Grantaire snarled. He wrapped his hand on Montparnasse's shoulder, squeezing, like a friend would. "I'm telling you because I'm out. Ok? I've gone. I don't need an out from this place. But you do, and if you keep letting these guys ride on your coat tails, you won't be going far. What do you do when someone's trying to pull you under? You kick them in the head and let them drown."

Montparnasse's brows furrowed in doubt, and Grantaire could practically feel how close he was getting to winning him over, dragging out the greed one word at a time. One more push. Pulling his keys out he all but ripped the house key off the ring and handed it to Montparnasse.

"I left it on the table. Sneak out and take a look while they're distracted and you can decide from there."

Montparnasse held the key dumbly, frowning at it like he wasn't sure what it was. Grantaire didn't know when he stopped breathing, but his chest was quickly tightening from the lack of oxygen as he waited for Montparnasse to answer.

Montparnasse curled his fist around the key and nodded.

"You good here?" Montparnasse's subtly left more to be desired as he raised his voice but Grantaire would have danced to get him to leave. He nodded and waved his sketchbook, playing along. That was all he needed before Montparnasse was hoping the stairs and disappearing from sight leaving Grantaire with Babet and Pierre.

"You guys can go back to that scotch. I'll be a little while." Grantaire said.

"You sure?" Babet asked. He grabbed Enjolras's jaw and tilted his head from side to side, an appraising glint in his smile, as he licked his lips. "He looks like he could be a feisty one."

Enjolras's blue eyes snapped up from his pointed gaze at the water, locking onto Babet. Before any of them could react, tied wrists wrapped around Babet's neck and Enjolras pulled the fisherman's head into the water. Babet thrashed from beneath Enjolras, but the merrow held onto him, sinking below the surface of the water and dragging Babet further in with him.

"Shit!" Pierre tried to pry Enjolras's wrists away from Babet but Enjolras just sunk further into the water, his tail slipping out of the other side of the freezer. Babet's thrashing turned into quivering, and finally to fluttering. The metallic singing of Pierre grabbing a knife sent Grantaire into motion. Pushing Pierre out of the way, Grantaire shoved Babet's head further into the water and wrapped his hand around Enjolras's wrists.

"Let him go!" He shouted. Something seemed to snap in Enjolras and the merrow stopped fighting, his arms slackening. Before Grantaire could figure out what exactly just happened, Enjolras yanked his tied wrists from Grantaire's grasp and sunk his body deeper into the water.

Babet fell to the ground gasping for air, water pooling around him. Slamming the lid shut, Grantaire threw himself in front of the freezer.

"Get him out of here!" Grantaire snarled pointing at Babet. Pierre hauled Babet up, smacking him on the back as Babet retched beside him. "Go!"

Pierre threw a dirty glare at Grantaire but dragged Babet up the stairs.

"Give him some of the whiskey in my bag and dry him off! Christ!" Grantaire raked a shaky hand through his curls and waited until he heard Babet and Pierre stumbling up the second flight of stairs before he pushed the lid to the freezer open. Enjolras hadn't moved, except to curl his tail closer to him. It was so painfully similar to the time he had thought Grantaire had been laughing at him that it stung.

"C'mon." He said, his voice breathy and shallow. The same kind of hurt on Enjolras's face was enough for Grantaire to stop breathing again. But it was only a brief moment before Enjolras closed himself off and Grantaire could feel him pulling away.

A scowl appeared on Enjolras's face as he braved the surface.

"Are you going to draw me again?" Enjolras asked, his voice leaking with reproach. Grantaire flinched at the sarcastic barb like he'd been burned.

"I'm sorry," Grantaire said. "I had no idea-"

"I should've known better." Enjolras said dismissively.

No, no, no! No, Grantaire didn't want to be a mistake to Enjolras. He didn't want be a regret! He wanted to be special, wanted Enjolras's worshipping touches again.

"I shouldn't have even talked to you in the first place! How could I have been so stupid?" Enjolras asked, a frustrated hand shoving his sheered blond curls from his face. He caught Grantaire's guilty stare and glowered back.

"Are you going to cut me up bit by bit too?" He sneered. "Your big friend threatened that as a means of getting me to cooperate."

Instead of answering, Grantaire picked up Pierre's discarded knife, rolling the blade at the hilt of his palm. Enjolras jutted his chin out defiantly, refusing to move further away. For someone who didn't know Enjolras, they wouldn't have seen past the bravado and would have backed down. Even with his hair sheered short and his wrists looking small and weak tied together, Enjolras was anything but a trapped fish caught in someone's net. And as Grantaire walked closer to the freezer the realization that Enjolras could drown him just as easily as someone swatting a fly weighed heavily on his chest. But the flash in Enjolras's eyes that stared down the knife was there, and Grantaire would do anything to take that fear away.

Grabbing the rope, Grantaire stared down at Enjolras's hands as he slashed the knife upwards and cutting through the bindings. Enjolras's arms immediately sunk into the water and Grantaire took a step back. Licking his lips, Grantaire flipped the knife and extended the handle out to Enjolras.

"What is this?" Enjolras asked, not taking the knife. "What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to show you that you can trust me-"

"I don't."

"Enjolras, I'm sorry!" Grantaire pleaded. "But you have to believe me."

Enjolras's lips were in a tight line as he narrowed his eyes. "What reason do you have that could get me to trust someone like you?"

"Enjolras, we don't-"

"When all you've done thus far is to draw me out into the open."

"Me? You were the one that decided it would be a good idea to destroy Montparnasse's nets," Grantaire said with a slight frown.

"Because he was destroying generations worth of marine ecosystems by wrecking havoc to a coral reef!"

"Enjolras-" Grantaire tried, casting a nervous glance over at the basement door.

"Coral reefs are invaluable to my people and the other marine life in the water. Records, histories, cultures,  _families_ are lost because humans- such as your friends- are careless and greedy." A faint flush started to crawl up Enjolras's chest and into his cheeks. At any other time Grantaire would have found his passion endearing, but Pierre was bound to come down at any moment to tell Grantaire off for ordering him around.

"They aren't my friends!" He tried again.

"Not to mention the amount of cans that they threw-"

"Enjolras!" Enjolras started at Grantaire's shout but otherwise remained silent as Grantaire raked a hand through his curls.

"I get it. I do. They're dicks. But please," Grantaire said. "We have to get you out of here before they come back."

"No." Grantaire stared at him, confused by the stubbornness set in Enjolras's shoulders.

"Enjolras," he said slowly. "Look! I get that you aren't the sort that's used to being the one that needs the saving here, seeing as how you're like the Superman of the Seas, or something, but you're going to need to trust me here."

"I don't trust you!" The venom was like an ice pick to the chest, and everything inside Grantaire wanted to die as Enjolras watched him with guarded eyes. "How can you even demand that I trust you when all I have to go on is a day of you calling me pretty and wanting to draw me? Your friends have said the same things to me, and I'm trapped in a metal box, waiting to be sold like some prize!"

"They aren't my friends." Grantaire repeated softly.

"No? The term friends must mean something different for you humans then! But it must have been my mistake when you told me the other day that you only had one friend, named Eponine. You failed to mention these humans." Enjolras turned away from Grantaire, choosing to glare at the wall as if too disgusted to even look at Grantaire. Grantaire groaned into his hand. Throwing the knife that Enjolras had refused to take aside he knelt down beside the freezer.

"Enjolras, please. I'm trying to help you." Enjolras sent a suspicious glance over at Grantaire, his tail flicking beneath the water. But Grantaire didn't move, and he knew it hadn't been lost on Enjolras that he was allowing himself to be in perfect drowning position.

"These guys don't mess around."

"You were the one, Grantaire, who told them to keep me  _quiet_  until they  _negotiated_ a proper price for me, all for the sake of being able to draw me again!" Enjolras snapped. The flash of hurt made his voice crack and the muscle in his jaw twitched.

"And if I hadn't done that they would have slit your throat and dragged you around by your tail!" Grantaire's voice was sharp with frustration. " _Damnit_  Enjolras. I was lying! I was trying to protect you."

"And what about now? Are you lying now?" Enjolras looked away again. "Draw me like you asked for, and when you tattoo it on your body, put it next to your compass."

Grantaire furrowed his brow, confused.

"I'm not an idiot. I know what the meaning behind it was supposed to be. Wasn't it supposed to help you find your way towards a purpose? Apparently it's broken, because you're living in circles, Grantaire, and you're back where you started." Enjolras sneered.

Grantaire rose to his feet. "Fuck you."

He curled his fists tight against his sides. Enjolras scoffed, but Grantaire slammed his hand on the lid of the freezer.

"Fuck you." He hissed again. "I am trying, ok? I don't need some fish trapped in box, telling me just how worthless my life has been up until this point! But I am trying to help you."

"I wouldn't even be here if it weren't for you!" Enjolras growled back as he snapped his eyes to Grantaire, bristling at Grantaire's tone.

"Well," Grantaire said through clenched teeth. "I'm not the one who went and got themselves captured!"

"I am  _not_  a captive." Enjolras said with the same amount of venom as he rose until he was staring directly into Grantaire's eyes and for a moment Grantaire was sure that Enjolras was going to grab him and hold him under the water until he stopped breathing. Enjolras's ears flushed red and he looked like he was torn between killing Grantaire and slinking back to the water, realizing how his voice had been thick with pride. He chose the latter, and crossed his arms over his chest making him look like a petulant child.

"And I do not need, nor want your help."

It was the weakest jab Enjolras had thrown at Grantaire the entire argument but it was the last straw. Grantaire narrowed his eyes, his cheeks heating up to the point that he was sure they were starting to flush against his pale face.

"Fine," he said not even caring that some of the Enjolras's bravado faltered from his shoulders. "You stubborn, over majestic, piece of tuna. You don't need my help?  _Fine!_ "

Shoving his sleeves up, Grantaire dunk his arms into the water. The water felt gross and slimy and cold, the freshness of the seawater had staled from whatever waste they had left Enjolras in for too long.

"What are you doing?" Enjolras's body tensed under Grantaire's arms, and his tail flipped in a panic.

"I'm not having your dead body on my conscious. You don't want my help? Fine. I'm  _not_  helping you get your insufferable scaly ass back to the ocean and out of my life for forever."

Grantaire groaned as he lifted Enjolras into his arms. Enjolras's flailed, an arm curling around Grantaire's neck to steady himself, and the tension along his body made Grantaire nearly drop him twice.

"Put me down!" Enjolras's voice was still sharp but was several octaves higher than it had been when he was in the water. Knowing that he was panicking, Grantaire felt some of his anger melt away and tried to shush Enjolras.

"Stop stru-"

"Put me down! Grantaire, put me down!" Enjolras curled away from Grantaire and nearly plummeted to the ground. Grantaire caught him and eased to the floor, letting Enjolras roll from his arms and onto the dirty cement ground.

"We don't have time-" Grantaire hissed but Enjolras waved him away.

"Go check outside," Enjolras said lifting himself into a sitting position, his stomach muscles flexing as he used his hands to move.

"What?" Enjolras gave Grantaire an excruciatingly frustrated look.

"Just do it! Go check!"

Grantaire scowled and stomped over to the stairs, taking two at a time as he cursed under his breath. Opening the door, he peeked his head out and gave a cursory glance around to an empty hallway. Twisting to see that the stairwell was also empty, Grantaire closed the door and raced down the stairs.

"There's no one ther-" He started before his voice cut off. "Holy… fuck."

Enjolras was struggling to stand on two shaky pale long legs. His knees buckled under him and he started to fall forward. Grantaire caught him, wrapping an arm around Enjolras's very naked waist.

"You have legs?" He asked. Enjolras only nodded, his breath coming out in short exerted bursts from between his lips. "Why didn't you use these before?"

"I've never done it before!" Enjolras panted, his hands curling around Grantaire's arm as he legs trembled beneath him. "Combeferre was the only one of us who could actually do it when we tried once."

"You could have said something!" Grantaire propped Enjolras against the freezer. Enjolras only seemed to hold himself up by the strength of his arms alone and the blond was scowling frustrated at his legs.

"How do you even use these things?" He sounded exasperated but more noticeably winded and if they were going to make a hasty escape, then Enjolras's lack of familiarity with how legs worked wasn't going to help.

"Uh…" Grantaire's eyes traveled up the long stretch of thighs and muscles and hipbones, trying to keep himself from lingering on the very noticeable piece of evidence between Enjolras's legs. Now was not a time to fall even more in love with him!

He fumbled with his shirt, peeling the wet flannel off his arms, leaving him in his t-shirt and carefully wrapped the flannel around Enjolras's shoulders. Enjolras was longer than Grantaire but Grantaire was more torso than legs and so the material was enough to cover Enjolras appropriately.

"Look, this is good. It'll be less inconspicuous this way. But let's save walking lessons for when we are far away from these guys. We'll move faster if I carry you out of here. 'K?" Enjolras was pushing his arms through the sleeves of Grantaire's shirt shyly and  _oh…_ He was still staring. Grantaire tore his gaze away, wiping sweaty palms on his jeans as he waited for Enjolras to finish dressing. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other he gave Enjolras some privacy and waited until he heard a muffled puff of air. Enjolras had lowered himself back onto the ground with a disgruntled pout aimed solely at his legs. Grantaire would have teased him with how adorable he looked, but with the possibility of still being murdered by the very drunk men upstairs made him hold his tongue.

"Are you ready?" Grantaire asked. Enjolras nodded, his expression closed off, but Grantaire noticed the way that he tugged on his hair, twisting the tufts of curls around his finger. When Grantaire slid his arm under his knees, Enjolras hooked his ankles together, as if finding the familiar fastening of his feet comforting. Enjolras was much lighter without his tail and he fit against Grantaire's chest nicely. But any sort of enjoyment that Grantaire could've felt with simply being able to hold Enjolras like this was lost by the sheer uncomfortable rigidness that had set in Enjolras's shoulders.

"Good?" Enjolras gave a stiff nod but said nothing. He kept his arms in front of him until Grantaire started walking. The blond latched an arm around Grantaire's neck and his other hand found Grantaire's collar like an anchor. Realizing he had startled, Grantaire stopped as Enjolras stared tightlipped at the ground. Grantaire's t-shirt wrinkled under Enjolras's hand as he fisted the shirt.

"What's wrong?" Grantaire whispered into his ear. Frayed edges of blond curls brushed against his nose. "Are you alright? Does something hurt?"

Enjolras stayed silent for a long time, his stoic expression firmly in place before,

"Please don't drop me," he said in a shaky whisper. Grantaire dropped his forehead against Enjolras's temple, a sigh escaping his lips as the last of his irritation melted away.

"Never," he whispered back, tightening his grip. The fist clutching Grantaire's shirt twisted in return.

The trek up the stairs was tense, every creak of the wood under Grantaire and Enjolras's combined weight seemed louder than necessary, and they could hear the boy upstairs cheering.

 _Must have found that bottle of tequila,_ Grantaire thought, which was good. It bought them a little bit of time. A crippling feeling in his stomach pumped anxiety through his veins at the weight he carried, both physically, and metaphorically. Grantaire had never been one to appreciate the poetry of certain things, but having Enjolras in his arms seemed to make everything incredibly real. Real in the sense that the reality he'd always known was gone, real in the sense that they were both still very much in danger, and real in the sense that the feelings stirring within him that he'd thought long dead were swarming his heart. He felt alive, and the flickering light fighting to spark back into a flame.

He eased his way around the second story, peeking his head in empty bedrooms until he found the master bedroom, Montparnasse's things littering the floor. Enjolras scrunched his nose against the smell of sharp cigarette smoke and Grantaire breathed through his mouth as he strode through the mess and towards the door leading to the balcony.

Enjolras arms tightened around his neck as Grantaire reached to open the door, struggling since his hands were full of a merrow terrified of the prospective of falling. The glass door slid open with a harsh squeak. The distant sounds of the waves teased them and Enjolras gasped at the fresh air, sending warm breath along Grantaire's cheek. The night sky greeted them as they passed over the threshold and onto the rickety wooden balcony. Stairs, stairs, where were the stairs? Grantaire knew he had seen the stairs when he had first come to the house. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness as he searched for the staircase. There!

Hidden to the side, a flight of stairs lead down from beside an old glass table that had seen one too many nights outside during storms. If he hadn't been looking for it, Grantaire would have fallen straight through the hole.

A cheer and a series of shouts made both of them stop breathing and Grantaire twisted to look up, fully expecting to see Pierre and Babet and anyone else staring down at them from the third story balcony. But then Nicolas's laughter cut through the air and Babet was bragging about something, leaving Grantaire and Enjolras undetected.

Neither of them breathed as Grantaire rushed down the stairs until his shoes crunched under the gravel. Grantaire peeked a glance down at Enjolras and smiled when blue eyes gleamed back up at him.

"C'mon. Let's-" It was then that Grantaire felt the knife pierce his stomach. At first, it felt like nothing at all. He felt the knife slide into his body, slicing through muscle and skin, but not the actual pain of the stab wound. And then, all he could feel was the wrongness of it, the metal and the curved tip of the point that invaded his body and sent blood racing for an escape.

"Grantaire!" He didn't feel the pain until Enjolras shouted his name, terror tainting his beautiful voice.

"I knew you were up to something." Claquesous's voice hissed in Grantaire's ear. "A worthless drunk like you wouldn't just give away free booze."

"Run!" Grantaire croaked before throwing Enjolras towards the road. "Enjolras go!"

Grantaire felt his legs give under him, his knees burning in pain as fabric and skin met hard gravel. As a gasp of shock passed his lips, Claquesous twisted the knife sending a blazing pain soaring through Grantaire's body.

"Looks like Montparnasse was right about you," Claquesous said turning the knife again. "You're good for something after all."

Claquesous withdrew the knife, the blade slick with red blood, and shoved Grantaire face first into the gravel.

"So you can talk," Claquesous said striding towards Enjolras. Enjolras struggled to get to his feet. He rose barely an inch off the ground before falling back in a heap. Claquesous brought his foot up and kicked the blond in the chest.

"And you've these pretty things." Claquesous snatched Enjolras's ankles and yanked him closer. Enjolras cried out, the gravel scraping deep into his back, his fingers digging deep in the dirt as he scrambled to break free. Claquesous wrapped his fist around Enjolras's bicep, squeezing until he bruised, practically purring at the sounds Enjolras made.

"What other pretty things have you been hiding?" Claquesous threw Enjolras back on the ground, the knife still coated with Grantaire's blood, pressed against Enjolras's throat as he straddled him. Enjolras gritted his teeth and twisted his head away from Claquesous's outstretched hand. A cry tore from his throat when Claquesous snatched his hair, pulling his head off the ground, before Enjolras slammed his mouth shut.

"Oh? What was that? Do you have a pretty scream too?" Enjolras clutched his jaw shut, biting on his lip to keep from cursing at the human. Claquesous leered closer to him as he let the knife trail lightly along his skin, up from his neck to his cheek, and slowly down the front of Grantaire's shirt. The knife moved lower and lower until suddenly Claquesous lurched over Enjolras's head and onto the ground. Grantaire wrapped his arms around Claquesous's throat, his face red with fury, until Claquesous rammed his elbow into the knife wound in Grantaire's stomach. Grantaire paled, and his grip slackened enough for Claquesous to pull himself from under Grantaire's arm.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Grantaire launched himself around Claquesous's waist, using his momentum to topple the fisherman to the ground. He swung a fist, his knuckles cracking as he met Claquesous's temple. Claquesous fell limp under the punch. Grantaire panted harsh, shallow breaths as he raised another fist and sent it down to his unconscious face for good measure. This time, the skin on his knuckles split and Claquesous's nose started bleeding.

"Grantaire…" Enjolras's voice was shaky, and sent Grantaire spinning. The sudden move made his stab wound scream, and his vision blacked out as he bit his lip to keep from screaming.

When his vision focused, he searched for Enjolras through blurry wet lashes. The blond was trying to get to him, using the side of the house to help him stand as he took unsteady steps towards him.

The water. He had to get Enjolras to the water. Warm blood oozed from between Grantaire's fingers as he pressed down on his side and he could taste copper from the raw skin on his lip between his teeth.

"C'mon." Grantaire groaned as he stood. His legs didn't give out underneath him the moment he put his weight on them, which meant he was still pumping adrenaline through his veins. Good. It was going to make moving a lot easier, at least for a little while.

Enjolras grabbed his arm, steadying himself, before he ducked under the hollow of Grantaire's elbow. Not saying anything he wrapped an arm around Grantaire's waist. Grantaire hummed at the feeling of Enjolras's strong muscles, but he could only smile stupidly- possibly deliriously- at Enjolras's confusion.

Grantaire cleared his throat and pointed towards the hill leading into town. The grass was tall enough to cover them from the windows of the house, but Montparnasse and his friends' drunken stumbling over the years had treaded down a smoother path of grass and mud. By the time they had reached the bottom of the steep hill and the light of the house had disappeared with distance, Grantaire and Enjolras were both leaning heavily on one another panting.

"These are exhausting," Enjolras said, his cheeks flushed and sweat running down his temples. "No wonder Combeferre only tried it once!"

Grantaire snorted, a mistake because it made his stomach clench just enough to remind him that he was bleeding out from a fucking stab wound, but he grimaced out a smile to ease the alarmed expression off Enjolras's face.

"Definitely not the little mermaid," he mumbled. Enjolras frowned, but Grantaire waved off the tangent he could see forming on Enjolras's lips. "I know! Not a mermaid. A merrow. It was a joke."

Enjolras sharp glare softened into a sheepish attempt at a smile but he didn't fool Grantaire. Enjolras had been staring at his hand pressed against his wound, the blood feeling sticky on his skin as it sluggishly oozed from between his fingers, his body continuing to pump more out of him with every step he took.

"Do you think you can walk without my help?" Grantaire asked because even if it probably would've been faster if he just carried Enjolras, he would drop dead from blood loss half way to the docks. Enjolras nodded and locked his knees under him as if to prove to Grantaire that he wasn't lying. Before he could pass out, Grantaire straighten and held out his hand.

"C'mon then. It's not far now." Enjolras's slid his hand into Grantaire's, curling around his palm without hesitation, and started walking again, hidden among the shadows. Every so often, Grantaire would check over his shoulder, half expecting Pierre to come barreling towards them with a machete, but other than a close encounter with a car, he and Enjolras made it through the back streets and towards the docks without any interference.

With each step closer to the ocean they got, Enjolras breathed deeper and was steadier on his feet.

"Is it easier for you to be out of the water during night?" Grantaire asked, noting the difference between Enjolras withering away in the sun earlier and then. A beaming smile that made Grantaire's heart do somersaults in his chest pulled on Enjolras's lips.

"There's more water in the air when the moon's out." Enjolras explained. A bit of color was filling Enjolras's cheeks, and he was all but walking on his own, his hand still firmly wrapped around Grantaire's.

"Fuck you water evaporation," Grantaire said teasingly. Before he could laugh though, his foot fell into a pothole and his whole side felt like it was ripping in half, stealing his breath from his chest.

"Grantaire!" Enjolras cried, but Grantaire couldn't respond other than curling into himself. Steady hands kept him from keeling over and air rushed into his lungs when Enjolras wrapped a strong arm around his waist again.

"I'm fine," Grantaire wheezed.

"You aren't fine." Enjolras argued, and Grantaire's muffled whimper only strengthened his point. "You're bleeding out."

A muscled twitched under Grantaire's jaw as he pointed in the direction of the docks. "C'mon. We're almost there."

"But-"

"I can take care of this once I know you're safe. Now let's go before the others catch up with us. They'll notice that we're gone by now." Without waiting for an answer, Grantaire took a step forward, dragging Enjolras with him until the blond caught up.

When they finally reached the docks and the two could hear the soft singing of the wind and the waves, Grantaire's weight was almost completely held up by Enjolras. He inhaled deeply, taking in Enjolras's scent, and oh yeah, he was delirious now because he wasn't even hiding it. Enjolras smelled like the sweat and rancid seawater they had kept him in but there was a hint of sunlight and wood. He didn't even bother to linger on the fact that the blond naturally smelled like that, and instead tried to memorize the combination of scents.

"Your flattery is incredibly over exaggerated," Enjolras murmured. Grantaire squinted up at him to see a deep blush crawling up his neck and into his cheeks.

Had he been saying all of that out loud?

"Yes," Enjolras said and oh- He was still doing it. Grantaire shook his head clear of the warm hum that had set in and tried to focus on walking.

"What the fuck is going on here?" Enjolras and Grantaire rocked to a halt. "How'd it get legs?"

Grantaire ground his teeth together because damnit, they were so close! His fingers cramped as he tightened his hold over his bleeding and forced himself to stand. Reluctantly, he pulled away from Enjolras and turned to glare at Montparnasse. Blocking Enjolras with his body, Grantaire felt a possessive surge of protectiveness as the fisherman's gaze trailed up and down Enjolras's body, his eyes lingering on his legs.

"Go, Enjolras," he said and squared his shoulders in case Montparnasse thought about stopping him. "Now."

Grantaire felt Enjolras hesitate, but then the sounds of his footfalls and a splash filled the air. Without looking, Grantaire knew that Enjolras was gone, and he couldn't even blame the gapping hole in his stomach for the way his chest felt like a knife had been pushed through it. A horrified expression marred Montparnasse's face. He didn't move until the realization of what Grantaire was doing smacked into him like a freight truck.

"You're letting it get away!" The fisherman seized forward only to meet Grantaire's arm. He shoved Montparnasse back harder than was actually necessary, but Grantaire couldn't really bring himself to care. He'd stolen the last moment he was ever going to have with Enjolras, and Grantaire hated him for that.

"It's over, Montparnasse. He's gone."

"Like hell it is!" Montparnasse threw his beer bottle into the water and turned towards the closest boat docked, bobbing as the waves lulled beneath it. With strength he was slowly losing with each oozing amount of blood, Grantaire grabbed Montparnasse's arm.

"Leave him," he said in a low deadly tone. "And I swear to God, if you touch him again, I'll kill you."

A dangerous veil passed over Montparnasse's face. Grantaire blocked the punch, but he missed the right hook. Usually, Grantaire could have taken it. But the world tilted sharply and he nearly puked when Montparnasse's foot kicked him on his wound.

"You think that because you left this place that you're better than me?" He slammed his heel on Grantaire's stomach again. All the air left Grantaire's lungs and he curled away from Montparnasse before he could kick him again.

"I've got news for you, Grantaire," Montparnasse hissed. "You're as burnt out as the rest of us. Sure, you made it out of here but look around! Your sorry drunk ass is right back where you started!"

Montparnasse kicked Grantaire onto his back, fumbling with something behind him before he pulled out a gun Grantaire had always thought he'd bluffed about when running around blowing smoke out of his ass. The click of the safety echoed, sending a cold shudder through Grantaire.  _Great. Guns and knives. Why don't they just run him over with a truck while they were at it?_

"I thought we were friends."

 _Jesus Christ_ he actually sounded betrayed. Squinting up at Montparnasse, his vision blurring in and out of focus, Grantaire steeled himself for the inevitable.

"We aren't."

Montparnasse's face turned into a sneer, and he aimed the gun at Grantaire's head.

"Well, looks like someone's going to end up like his old man after all. Drunk, worthless, and dead."

With his finger curled around the trigger, Grantaire swallowed and waited for the shot to ring out as he tried to think of blue eyes.

Montparnasse's beer bottled whistled as it sailed through the air, landing on his head. The fisherman dropped to a heap on the ground. After several agonizing minutes of waiting for Montparnasse to jump up screaming, the fisherman didn't get back up.

Groaning, Grantaire rolled over onto his stomach and wrapped his hand around the gnarly edge of the dock, dragging his body to peer out into the water. Enjolras waded in the water, blue eyes staring murderously at Montparnasse's unmoving body before he spotted Grantaire. Ducking under the water, Enjolras's red tail flashed as he swam over to him. Rolling over onto his back, Grantaire twisted his body so that his head could rest against the wood, too heavy for him to hold but not ready to give up the moment. Enjolras poked through the water, a distressed frown on his face as he stared at Grantaire.

"You came back." Grantaire didn't care that he was grinning like an idiot. The moonlight made Enjolras practically glow with an aureole of light framing his face by his golden curls.

"You're dying," Enjolras said simply.

Grantaire glanced down the red stain that was starting to pool down his hip and onto the dock.

"Yeah," he said. "I am."

There wasn't a point in lying to himself. He could already start to feel the massive effects of blood loss, and moments of coherency were becoming more like static. The adrenaline must have been keeping him from noticing. But as the adrenaline started to fade, so did Grantaire.

A groan fumbled past his lips as he threw his arm over his eyes.

"I did  _not_ want to die in this place." He whined. When he glanced back at Enjolras, the blond's head was tilted, the troublesome frown still on his face.

"You're giving your life for mine," he said quietly. "Why?"

"I was never going to let them hurt you," Grantaire mumbled. He brought a weak hand up to run through Enjolras's curls, touching his crown with the same reverence Enjolras had given him. "But I was too slow. I couldn't protect you."

"But you did." Enjolras argued.

"I dropped you." Grantaire argued. "And I said I wouldn't."

"Actually you threw me." Grantaire snorted and really, it should have hurt. But he assumed that must have meant that he was getting close. Enjolras must have realized that too because his teasing smile fell.

"What do you want?" Enjolras asked.

"What are you, a genie now?" Grantaire tried to get the beautiful smile back on his face but Enjolras shook his head.

"What do you want?" He insisted. Grantaire cupped Enjolras's cheek, his thumb sliding soothingly along his cheekbone.

"I just want your face to be the last thing I see." Enjolras leaned into his hand and pressed forward.

"Grantaire," he sighed. "I can save you."

"You already did."

Enjolras's frustrated scowl only served to make Grantaire smile wider.

"I can save you," he said. "From this."

The static was becoming more insistent, the black clouding the rims of his visions.

"But you have to want it." Enjolras's breath was warm on his face as his hands curled around the base of Grantaire's neck. Tears of water dripped from Enjolras and slid down Grantaire's skin like a caress.

"Do you want it, Grantaire?" Grantaire's eyelids were becoming heavier as he struggled to keep them open, not ready to take one last drink of Enjolras yet. A smile curled at his lips.

"All I want is you."

Grantaire gasped as Enjolras's lips pressed against his own, the blond's hands curling into fists around his shirt. Soft warm lips moved to wrap around his top lip and when Enjolras first kissed him with chaste tentative lips, all the desperation and anxiety that Grantaire had felt when he first saw the merrow trapped in the net pressed out of Enjolras as if terrified that he was too late. The kiss awoke all the hope and passion Grantaire had long since thought dead within him and it was everything he'd ever wanted in his life. Lifting a hand to sooth the frantic way Enjolras was clinging to him, Grantaire raised his head to match the kiss, as his body started to slide into the water following Enjolras. When his feet slid away from dry land, he felt a lost strength course through him as he kissed Enjolras back and for the first time in his life, Grantaire could breathe.

 


End file.
